


come hell or high water

by Please_Tommy_Please



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: BFFs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions™, Gen, M/M, The Scorch Trials Spoilers, Thomas is insensitive without realizing it, Thomas's coping mechanism is trying to come up with a way to fix everything, minho is so protective of newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Please_Tommy_Please/pseuds/Please_Tommy_Please
Summary: Winston was dying.There was nothing they could do.That wouldn't stop Thomas from trying. Would never stop Thomas from trying.Come hell or high water.





	come hell or high water

Winston was dying.

The whole group was aware of the fact.

But this didn't stop Thomas from listing through potential ways to save him, each theory more far-fetched than the last. His desperation to find a solution was turning his logical thought process into a frazzled mess of impossibilities.

He raked a hand through his hair, bringing it down to scrub his face.

"No, there's got to be _something_ ," he muttered to himself. He stared into the fire, willing some sort of answer to strike him.

Nothing.

He gritted his teeth, and grains of sand crunched between his molars.

Despite the warmth of the fire, he felt colder than ever. Desperation tugged at him, slowly filling his stomach with more dread as the days passed. He had to find the answer.

He rubbed his hands together and held them closer to the small fire.

They'd taken refuge in a tiny ghost town, in one of the few buildings that remained standing.

The building was little more than a leaning slab of stone, weathered by the constantly blowing sand. Any signs of life or vibrancy had been stripped away long ago.

Winston was laying a small distance from the group. A quick glance showed him to be asleep.

"Anyone gonna brainstorm with me?" Thomas asked aloud. A tense silence followed.

Over the past few days, Minho or Newt or Teresa would help Thomas by letting him bounce his ideas off of them late at night.

The others all refused to indulge Thomas, to help him think of a plan. It was frustrating as well as mildly insulting.

He was trying to help. Couldn't they see that?

Thomas looked up, eyes scanning around the pitiful fire.

Teresa was already sleeping.

Minho was locked in a low, but seemingly urgent conversation with Frypan on the other side of the room.

Newt was across from him, staring into the flames and giving the impression that he hadn't heard Thomas at all.

Thomas cleared his throat, a bit uneasily, and tried again.

"Newt?" he said. "Come on, man, help me out here. There's a solution to this, we just have to find it."

Even from across the fire, Thomas could see as a muscle in Newt's jaw feathered.

Aris muttered something about sleeping, and he turned to batter his backpack into a comfortable pillow.

"Newt. Please?"

Newt's eyes flicked up to his.

"There's got to be _something_ ," Thomas said quietly, a tone of urgency seeping into his voice. "We just have to find it."

Newt closed his eyes for a long, long moment, then shook his head. The movement was jerky, and Thomas clenched his jaw, fighting against the rising tide of anger.

"We can think of something. We always do," he said. He glanced down at a subtle movement.

Newt's hands were balled into tight fists in his lap, so much so that his knuckles were a pasty white.

"Newt—"

A small, strangled noise escaped Newt's throat. He stood and turned, stalking away from the fire rigidly. His limp was painfully noticeable.

Thomas winced in preparation for the door to slam shut, but it latched quietly behind Newt.

Thomas scrambled to his feet. Any sounds of conversation halted, and Thomas looked over. Frypan and Minho were staring openly at him.

Frypan was frowning deeply, though concern shimmered in his eyes.

Minho, to Thomas's confusion, looked angry. Furious, even.

Thomas looked away, swallowing past the sudden dryness of his throat, and walked around to fire to go after Newt.

Frypan grabbed the hem of his pants.

Thomas paused, looked down at him.

Fry shook his head. "Leave him, man. Let him cool off a little."

Thomas's eyes flicked to Minho. His expression had settled into something cold, and it made Thomas's stomach twist.

What did he even do to piss everyone off?

Thomas shook his head, pulling his leg from Frypan's grasp. "I'm going to talk to him."

He kept his eyes away from Minho as he continued, exiting the room and closing the door lightly behind him.

"Newt?" he called lowly, scanning the hall. He turned to check out the closed doors on his right, when he heard a faint scrape and thud come from his left.

He followed the sound into a trashed, filthy room that was once a kitchen, where the door was torn from the hinges and lying on the sandy floor.

He paused in the doorway.

Newt sat in a wooden chair near the table, head buried in his hands.

Even from here, and in the minuscule amount light provided by the moon through a grimy window, Thomas could see Newt's fingers gripping at his hair, and the way his body shook with every exhale.

"Newt?" Thomas whispered, and the small bubble of compressed silence broke.

Newt's breathing stuttered, audibly, and he tensed.

"Newt," Thomas continued, voice still hushed, "are you okay?"

The pause lasted long enough to set Thomas on edge. It urged him to go to Newt, to comfort him, to fix what he'd broken.

Instead he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tapped out an erratic rhythm on his upper thigh.

"No."

Thomas froze as Newt's voice cracked over the single word.

"I'm not," Newt said, "but right now, I have to be."

"No, Newt, that's not true."

Newt stood from his chair and whipped around to face him.

"It is," he insisted. "The priority is Winston. Anything else can wait."

Thomas thought for a moment, and chose his words carefully. "We can still fix this. We can get Winston help, and we can do that sooner if we come up with a way to—"

Newt let out a broken scream of anger, and Thomas recoiled, plastering his back against the wall beside the doorway.

"You _stupid_ shank!" he snarled, and stepped forward, jabbing a finger in Thomas's face. He slammed his other hand against the wall beside Thomas's head. "Not everything has a bloody answer, Thomas!"

Close as he was, Thomas could make out the wild fury on Newt's face, but he could also see the way his eyes glittered with barely-suppressed tears.

"Newt," Thomas whispered.

"You can't fix everything," Newt rasped out. The anger was rapidly fading, and Newt trembled. "You can't save everyone."

Thomas swallowed. "I have to try."

"You—" Newt attempted to respond, but all he managed was a choked sob.

Thomas himself was shaking as he pulled Newt into a tight embrace. Newt crumbled, pressing his face into Thomas's shoulder, muffling his cries.

Thomas didn't know what to do.

They sank to the floor, and Thomas continued to hold him, his body falling into a small rocking motion as he hooked his chin over Newt's shoulder.

"It's okay," he whispered. "We're gonna make it through this.

"We always do."

**Author's Note:**

> Minho is such a protective friend. Also, Thomas is an oblivious boi. He's very insensitive, but not intentionally. He's just trying to cope in his own way, and that's by working his mind tirelessly to find some sort of answer.
> 
> These poor boys :(


End file.
